Insufferable Friendships
by Opal K. T
Summary: On the best of days they couldn't stand one another. It was only on the worst of days that they realized how much they shared. A sidestory to Through Hope Lost.
1. Insufferable Friendships

Disclaimer - me no own. dur.

A/N - a sidestory to Through Hope Lost - which I am still working on, just less chronologically.

* * *

There was something about Teldrassil that always made the hairs on the back of Tyrande's neck bristle, but tonight it was particularly bad. The air itself seemed determined to make her ill, feeling more unnatural and alien than ever.

It had always been like this. Ever since the damned tree had been planted, it had felt strange, not necessarily evil, but still the sort of feeling that made one a tad lightheaded and queasy. Over the past few years, as more and more abominations had made the tree their home, the feeling had become less subtle, apparent even to those with senses less attuned to nature.

It was no small wonder that only a few druids stayed in Darnassus, and Tyrande doubted it was by choice in most cases.

Scowling across her balcony at the enclave, Tyrande couldn't help but feel a bit of anger. It had been a poor plan, and on top of everything else, worrying about a damn tree was not her department, and yet here she was doing just that. She barely slept between all the goings on of the world, her personal life, and other assorted rude awakenings, but the tree had been completely avoidable if only she had slapped that idiot a bit harder. The more she thought about it, the angrier it made her, and the more she thought about _that_ the more she wanted to laugh. She was a mad at a tree and a lonely child (or at least that was how she thought of him at times, he was very young compared to her) Maybe it wasn't fair or proper to blame Fandral for all that had happened, but the damned fool had surely played a part in it. If he had only listened to...

Tyrande had become very good at stifling the tears. Of all the things Fandral had ever said to her, his suggestion on hiding her weakness was perhaps the soundest, if not rather tactless, advice she had received.

With a sigh, she headed back into the temple and down the winding ramps towards the exit. It wasn't that she hated the man, that wasn't it at all. In his own, gruff, damn near heartless ways, he had supported her in the times that Malfurion had gone into the dream, or in the rare instances they had fought. He could be a good listener when he felt like it, and his responses, although painful, were blunt and to the point – he never 'sugar coated things' as the humans said. Rather, he told people exactly what was on his mind. It certainly hadn't earned him the greatest of reputations, not to mention his impatience, cold stares, obvious attitude problems...

Ok, so maybe there were times when she found the man absolutely insufferable. Still, she wasn't prepared to hate him. She couldn't even hate...

Those tears, oddly enough, were a bit harder to stifle. Still, she managed, and continued her stroll to the enclave without looking like a crushed child before any of the sentinels.

She stopped at the end of the walk, suddenly extremely nervous. She wasn't sure why she had started walking towards the enclave, yes she had been thinking about Fandral, but...

She didn't know why she had suddenly been drawn there.

Tyrande briefly considered turning back, or maybe even stopping at the inn and talking to whoever was still awake (maybe get into a drinking contest with a dwarf – although she would never admit that to any but her closest friends, one of whom was mad and the other in a coma, and who was going to believe the dwarf?), but just as she started to walk the other way, the strange feeling she'd had earlier returned, with far more force than before.

As well as a stark similarity to something she had felt thousands of years ago.

She glanced back at the enclave, suddenly more uneasy than she had felt in a long time.

She knew that _feeling_.

She had felt that strange air when her best friends parents had blown themselves up attempting to channel a spell that was far beyond their abilities. She had felt it while walking with Illidan at the site of their ruined home – it had still permeated the air even weeks after the accident. It had been there when Illidan had gone through the rubble while Malfurion yelled from a distance, and it had been there, choking her, after Illidan had collapsed and...

Tyrande was running towards Fandral's quarters before she was even fully aware of it.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was someone humming, closely followed by the sensation of having a herd of kodo trample his brain. Feebily, he attempted to open his eyes, immediately regretting it as the kodo decided to come back for another romp. He could swear his nose had started to bleed.

Fandral opened his eyes anyway. And kept them open.

Glancing to his left (The kodo seemed to be breeding now,) he glimpsed blue hair and pale skin in the dim light. He would have glared, but even he had his limits as far as pain.

"What are you doing here?" his voice sounded hoarse and weak. Inwardly, he grimaced.

She sighed, and looked over at him. "You're in my room. You've been unconscious for 3 days, and," she shifted around in the chair and leaned close to him, dropping her voice to a dangerous whisper. "Just what the hell were you thinking!? Do you have any idea how dangerous that type of spell is? I barely got you out of their in time. I hope you weren't too fond of anything in there, because its going to be awhile before you can even go near it!"

He scowled, looking away. "I don't recall sending for you. And what the hell would you know about magic anyway?"

Tyrande coughed, suddenly looking awkward and embarrassed out of the corner of his eye. "Really, as much as you bring _him_ up, you shouldn't have to ask...it's not like I didn't pay attention when he talked about what he was studying..." she collected herself quickly. "And that besides the point. The point is, you could have been killed."

Any regret Fandral felt was quickly replaced with irritation. "You wouldn't understand, even at the cost of my life, what could be accomplished...," he trailed off, argument quickly falling apart as his headache worsened. He pressed a hand to his face, pulled it away; his nose really was bleeding. "If I could just work out the final kinks, why I could..I..." he stared at the blood on his hand. There was quite a bit. Were nosebleeds usally that bad? He'd never had one. He couldn't really think of any elf he'd seen ever having one, not even the time Valstann pulled half a bookshelf down on himself as a child..."It could even benefit you, if Malfurion were to..." something warm and wet was running down his cheeks. Were his eyes bleeding too? Tyrande looked incredibly concerned.

She grabbed a rag from a bowl on the nightstand and leaned forward again, gently dabbing at his face and humming again.

"Would you stop that?" his voice cracked. "That song...she..."

"I know Rasmi used to sing it. I'm the one who taught it to her while she was still in training. Now, relax. You were trying a resurrection spell, weren't you? I've seen glyphs like that before..." when he didn't answer, she continued. "I could always ask Jaina, if you don't want to answer me. I could tell her I found glyphs somewhere in an imp cave and ask her what they mean..."

"There's no need to call your little human friend," he murmured, eyes closed, trying not to enjoy how soothing the cold cloth was. "You know damn well what I was trying to do, so stop dodging it."

"Fandral..." she sounded sad, but he didn't feel like looking. Opening his eyes meant risking tears. He refused to let her see that. "You can't..."

"I almost had him!" He snapped, slamming his fist on the edge of the nightstand. "I could feel the spell working...but then..." he opened his eyes and stared listlessly at the ceiling. "I couldn't find him. Everything was going fine, I was searching for him, all I had to do was find him and pull him into the circle but...damn it Tyrande, I couldn't find him. What does that mean? Ask your human friend that. What does it mean if you can't find someone's _soul_?"

"I...I don't know."

"Of course you don't know! And I doubt little miss Proudmoore does either! Hell, I doubt even your good friend the Betrayer knows!"

"That's enough!" She slapped him with the damp cloth, hard. "I'm sorry your spell failed, I'm sorry you lost your son and his soul apparently vanished, and I'm sorry we banished the highborne so that there's no one conveniently here to answer your questions, but there is no need to take it out on me!"

Fandral sighed angrily and pulled the cloth of his face, then placed it back over his eyes. "I'm sorry," he grunted.

"Apology accepted. And you're welcome for saving your life."

"I hadn't realized he was still such a sensitive topic for you."

"Honestly, I hadn't either."

He moved the cloth and gave her an odd look. "I feel like we've had this conversation before."

"Which part? The fight, the awkwardness, or the calling each other idiots?"

"We haven't called each other idiot's yet. Not vocally, at least."

Tyrande let out a bitter laugh. "No, I guess we haven't. And yes, we have done this before."

"After your..."

"Miscarriage. Yes."

"You didn't know why it hurt to talk about him then, either."

"If you're going to keep bringing Illidan up, then I'm going to talk about Rasmi. It's only fair."

He sighed and stared up at the ceiling again. "Did I ever thank you for that?"

"You never thank me for anything.," she responded dryly.

"After she died, and I went into that stupor, you were the one who slapped me hard enough to make me realize that I still had someone who needed me..."

"And you were the one who slapped me when I was hysterical over not being knowing where Illidan was. I needed someone to talk to, and you were willing to pretend to listen long enough to let me get it out of my system," she laughed. "You'll hate this, I'm sure, but you two are a lot alike...he wasn't as bad maybe, but when he wasn't in the mood to talk, he made sure I knew...and then he gave me the same blunt repsonse-"

"-You were right. I do hate that. And you're going to start crying again any minute now, and I don't feel like dealing with that."

"Well you don't have a choice," she chuckled. "You're stuck here for a bit, unless you can think of someone else who will take you in. Besides, you were crying earlier too."

"Have I burned the bridge with Ambersky yet?"

"I believe so, yes. When you question him on just what he did with all those Moonkin feathers."

"It was a simple question."

"You're stuck here. Get some rest," she stood, moving towards the doorway. "And Fandral, for Elune's sake, for Rasmi and Valstann's sake, don't be an idiot."

He rolled onto his side and stared at her. "And just what would you have me do?"

"Live," she said simply.

"You're crying again. Are you thinking of Illidan or your mate?"

Tyrande gave him a look and walked through the door. "And, while I'm sure it's just nature and Elune's way of telling you to stop this madness, if I do happen to find out why you couldn't find Valstann, I'll let you know." she called. "Just don't try that spell again!"

Fandral stared at the door frame for a long time, thinking. About Rasmi, about Valstann, even about the other times he and Tyrande had shared nights like this. She was a good person to talk to, although by then next day she would certainly fall back into incompetence. A pity. He could almost call her a friend, if only she could remain as kind and understanding as this all the time.

He laughed bitterly. Her ability to be kind and understanding in precisely the wrong situations was exactly why he couldn't stand her as a dimplomat. How hypocritical of his mind.

He rolled back and pressed the cloth to his forehead again.

"I'll find you..." he whispered. "I swear it."

* * *

Tyrande stood on the balcony, staring into the lake. She didn't plan on sleeping. There was simply too much to think about. What Fandral had said bothered her greatly...and the unease had nothing to do with the talk of Illidan.

She knew exactly why Fandral had been unable to find Valstann's soul It was an perfectly obvious reason, she just couldn't believe it.

With a sigh, she left the temple and began to walk towards the inn. Hopefully there would be a dwarf in town.


	2. Mementos of Death and Friendship

A/N - Warcraft is Blizzards baby, not mine.

This takes place, obviously, after Insufferable Friendships.

* * *

Fandral shivered involuntarily, glancing quickly to his left to make sure the Priestess had not seen. If she had, she gave no sign, her eyes still focused intently on the messenger before them. It was not pleasant news. It never was. Especially when the news came from the shattered excuse for a planet on the other side of the dark portal. In truth, Fandral almost felt bad for the woman sometimes. Still, she was obstinate and the looks she sometimes gave him were enough to make him want to throw her off one of Teledrassil's boughs. Cooperation between them was impossible, she was so stubborn sometimes in her defense of the most invalid points – the orcs, the little blond human girl who seemed to have difficulty choosing a side between her own kind and the greenskins, the marrowgrain research, the tauren, her husband and brother in law....

Tyrande drew a sharp breath, barely perceptible, but it was enough to snap Fandral out of his mental rant. Out of the corner of her eye, he saw her brown crease and her bottom lip quiver slightly. Women, honestly, sometime he wished he could-

"Are you certain?" her voice was harsh, but he couldn't help but notice a slight waver.

"I am, Priestess. The huntress said to give you this, as proof," the courier was pulling something out of his pack now. A leather wrapped package that reeked of blood and magic. He handed it to her and she hastily unwrapped one corner with shaky hands. Fandral nearly cursed himself, cursed the woman for bringing such distracting, infuriating thoughts to his mind that he had not been paying attention to the messengers words.

Tyrande hardly seemed to glance inside the leather before steeling herself.

"You may go," she said, rather uncharacteristically curt. "And tell the huntress she was right not to deliver this news herself, and that I will not welcome an audience with her."

The courier gave a flustered bow and left.

Tyrande turned and gently set the package on a work table.

"You're not going to leave whatever that is here, are you?" Fandral couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice.

"I will remove it later. Right now, I need air," she snapped as she strode to the balcony.

Grunting with distaste, Fandral turned his attention to the package. Now that he was closer, he could more clearly see that the leather was not as dark as he had thought, rather that the blood was violet.

Violet...Kal'dorei blood was...

He reached out a hand and brushed aside the undone corner, revealing the runed edge of a glaive, a bloodstained strip of fabric loosely wrapped around it. Something else was tucked into the fabric; he could see the edge of a petal shaped stone. He went to push aside the fabric to see the trinket, but a soft noise behind him made him freeze.

"She finally got her revenge...and my 'great mistake' as you so lovingly call it has been corrected," Tyrande voice cracked with the words.

Fandral pulled back, afraid to meet the womans gaze.

"I..."

She crossed, pulling out the trinket – an Iris made of amber on a thin leather cord – and stared at it for a long time.

"I had always hoped..." she shook her head and took Fandral's hand, pressing the pendant into it. "I never want to see it again. I don't care what is done with the rest. I just...I don't want to think about either of them right now."

He gazed at the amber flower for a minute before following her back to the balcony.

"I'm sorry...I know how hard loss can be and..."

"You were right. I really didn't know what it was like until just now," she wiped her tears on the back of her hand. "I always thought there was hope that they would both come back to me, that things would be the way they were. Well, maybe not exactly as they were, obviously, but they had reconciled and Illidan and I had come to an understanding and...it's not going to happen now. Malfurion isn't going to wake up, and Illidan didn't get away this time."

"You don't know that Mal-"

"I've lost them both. I know I have, any minute now, another courier is going to come running through that door and say-"

"I highly doubt that. It's alright to be depressed, but now you're just being ridiculous."

"This from the man who nearly killed himself trying to bring his son back."

"And obviously you're well enough to still spit salt at my wounds," he noted her fists tightening on the banister and inwardly cringed. "Malfruion will wake up. He's got himself in a mess, but he's not so foolish as you, nor as mad as his brother. When the courier comes it will be to tell you he is awake, and that he's wondering why his mate is doing such a terrible job running things with her stubborn head and overbearing emotions."

She whirled on him and he felt for a moment that he had gone to far. He had said far worse, of course, and the line that wasn't meant to be crossed was far behind them both at this point, but nonetheless, he had typically avoided such comments when she could easily push him off a balcony. Before he could correct himself, however, she gave a small smile and he realxed.

"More likely he'll be yelling at you, wondering why there is a giant tree in the middle of the ocean and the circle meets without and Archdruid. I can't imagine what he would say about the mounds of dirt everywhere.."

"He'd be alright with them, I'm sure. Unless we have switched to talking about the other Stormrage."

She punched him in the chest, still smiling, but a little too hard to be merely playful, and walked back inside, picking up the leather bound glaive.

He followed her, holding up the pendant. She shook her head and headed towards the door.

"I believe that before we were interrupted, you were telling me that you were going to do something immensely stupid. Amber is lucky, you could need it."

He frowned. "Research can hardly be considered stupid. Besides, it's an Iris. Such flowers are reserved for friendship."

She paused at the door and gave him a wry smile and merely shrugged. "You still need the luck."

She was gone before he could protest further.


End file.
